


i've got something to put in you

by jessalae



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Implied dubcon, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Undercover, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11306043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: Phase two of the plan has gotten away from Morgan a little bit, or maybe a lot, but it’s cool, this is the job, sometimes shit goes in unexpected directions, and this is fine, everything is fine--





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content Notes: references to off-screen rape of unnamed OCs; dub-con-y dirty talk
> 
> This fic doesn't take place at any specific time in the series, but maybe circa season 3 or 4? (since that's where I've watched up to at the time of writing
> 
> Title is taken from "Gay Bar" by Electric Six.

_ONE HOUR EARLIER_

“Wait, whoa, that’s our plan? Really?” Morgan demanded, interrupting Hotch. “No way.”

"We need to get the unsub to park his van and to observe him leaving it," Hotch said. "We'll have probable cause for a search, and whatever we find in the van will be enough to get a warrant for his house."

"There must be some other way to lure him out," Morgan argued. "This is too risky. Since when do we use the team as bait?”

“You’d prefer to use civilians?” Reid asked. His face was set, determined.

“No, but--” Morgan broke off, unsure how to make his point without saying ‘does it have to be you, Reid?,’ unsure if that was even a valid argument to anyone but himself, very sure he didn’t want anyone knowing that’s really where his objections were. “I don’t like it.”

"None of us do, but the unsub is too smart for any other kind of ruse, and we don't have enough on him to just arrest him," Prentiss pointed out. “He doesn’t know we’re onto him yet, there’s minimal danger in being near him.”

Morgan ground his teeth. “Fine,” he said after a deep breath. “But I go in first to keep eyes on Reid.”

“That was the plan all along,” Hotch said dryly. “Which you would have known, if you had let me finish presenting it the first time.”

Morgan shrugs.

_NOW_

The makeshift club -- really still more of an abandoned warehouse -- is worse than the diviest dive Morgan has ever been in. Four or five different colors of paint show through in various spots on the outside walls, and the bouncer leers at Morgan as he walks in, not even bothering to ask for ID. Morgan ignores him. This night is going to be complicated enough without worry about every skeevy guy in the place.

Morgan carefully winds his way through the crowd, brushing against sweaty, gyrating bodies, skimming the dancers with his eyes. Men of all shapes and sizes, muscular, skinny, hairy, waxed, in glitter or latex or tight v-necks like the one Morgan is wearing. None of them quite matches the description of the unsub, and they're all thoroughly engaged in dancing, nobody looking out of the ordinary. Morgan casually circles back towards the makeshift bar against the north wall and orders a beer. He finds himself a nice corner with good visibility and leans against the wall for a split second, then realizes it's sticky and decides to stand up straight instead. He glances around the room as if he's scoping out someone to dance with, keeping one eye on the door the whole time.

He wishes he could communicate back to the team that he's in position, but a full-on earpiece would have been too conspicuous with this outfit - no collar or jacket to hide the wire or battery pack in a v-neck and low-rise jeans. When you're staking out an illicit nightclub-slash-hookup-spot, you have to blend in. Wouldn't want to spook the unsub. He's going to have to make do with the tiny, audio-only version of his usual equipment that's currently nestled in his ear.

Morgan nurses his beer for what seems like an hour, although it's probably only been ten minutes -- the music they're playing in this joint all sounds like one long, godawful song. The bass pumps through Morgan's chest like a living thing, and he lets himself sway to the beat a tiny bit -- not enough that someone might notice him and come ask him to dance, just enough that he doesn't look too out of place by standing stock still. He tries to learn the crowd, pick out who's nervous, who's high, who's a predator. From the looks of it, every man in here is at least one of those things. And every once in awhile, a couple will break away from the crowd and head to the northwest corner of the room, where they’ll disappear through a set of thick black curtains. If the blueprints they looked at yesterday are correct, that must be where all the hook-ups happen here.

He manages not to jump when his tiny earpiece springs into life with Prentiss's voice. "Reid is outside the club. We're waiting for the unsub to make another pass around the block and notice him."

A couple slams against the wall a few feet down from where Morgan is standing, and he almost flinches into defensive posture, but they're not fighting - just violently making out. The taller of the two rakes his hands through his paramour's hair and grabs at his collar, dragging him even closer. Morgan's sure their teeth must have collided in that last kiss. He keeps his focus on the door, but notes when the shorter half of the couple drags his partner off into the back room.

"He's parking," Prentiss says in Morgan's ear. "Reid, head inside. Morgan, eyes when he comes in."

Morgan refocuses his attention through the crowd, picking out the steady stream of men entering the club and dismissing them as they prove not to be his colleague. That one's too short to be Reid, that one's hair is the wrong color, that one has too much skin exposed-- wait, what?

Morgan takes a bigger gulp of beer than he probably should. “All right, kid,” he mutters under his breath. “So that’s how we’re doing this." Phase one accomplished: eyes on Reid, and damn, if it isn’t a nice view.

Now he understands why Reid couldn't wear a proper earpiece either. Reid's jeans are skin tight and slung low enough to show the tops of his hipbones. Instead of a shirt, he's got some kind of harness thing on, leather straps wrapping around his shoulders and another across his chest right under his collarbone. His hair is slicked back, and -- Morgan squints through the strobe lights -- eyeliner? Yeah, definitely eyeliner. On anyone else, the outfit would look ridiculous, costumey, but it suits Spencer’s slim frame perfectly. He’s a natural part of this crowd -- just another lonely 20-something, maybe a little awkward, maybe a little high, didn't come with anyone but clearly looking for some fast no-strings-attached action if this is the club he's decided to frequent out of all the other options in town. Perfect bait through victimology.

The back of Morgan’s mind notes the way the strobe lights play on Reid’s stomach, the way his shoulders flex under the harness. _Eyeliner’s a good look for him,_ says the back of Morgan’s mind. Morgan ruthlessly refocuses his attention on work, reminding the back of his mind that he’s here to do a job, not get caught up in fantasies.

Reid works his way into the crowd, sliding through impossibly small gaps between dancing couples. His body language screams insecurity and submissiveness, and Morgan can see heads starting to swivel as Reid carefully picks his way forward. 

A man with a full beard and a thatch of chest hair peeking out of his unbuttoned shirt sidles up next to Reid and leans over to talk into his ear. Reid smiles at him and bends down a bit to listen, and the man brushes Reid's hair away from his face and snakes an arm around Reid's waist. Reid tenses for a second, then moves in and lets the man pull him closer. They start to move together in time with the music.

"Unsub parked on 3rd and Fremont behind the club," Prentiss says over the radio. "Leaving his vehicle now."

"Unsub is in the venue," says Hotch's voice. "Morgan, keep eyes on Reid."

 _Don’t have to tell me twice_ , Morgan thinks.

This is phase two: keep the unsub watching for as long as it takes for the rest of the team to search his van. They've got nothing on him except a profile and circumstantial evidence. Their only hope of getting a warrant into his house -- and maybe justice for the five young men he's raped, and the sixth he has stashed somewhere -- is whatever's in the van he never leaves unattended. The good news is, according to all his previous victims, he won't move in on anyone who's with another partner -- he’d much rather watch than intervene -- so Reid is safe as long as he keeps dancing. 

From the looks of it, “just keep dancing” isn’t going to be a problem. Morgan had been skeptical that Reid would be able to pull off this part of the plan, for obvious reasons, but clearly he underestimated the kid. Reid has his eyes fixed on the man he’s dancing with, a little smile on his face, his arms slung around the man’s neck. They’re pressed together at the groin, swaying with the beat, and when they turn around Morgan can see a sheen of sweat glittering on Reid’s shoulders.

Morgan takes another half-sip of his beer, trying to convince himself his throat is only dry because of the smoke machines.

The man Reid is dancing with cups Reid's jaw in his hand and pulls Reid in for a kiss. Morgan stands up straighter, wondering if he should step in, wondering if it’s his professional instincts or his personal priorities screaming at him to get Reid away from this guy. Reid has it covered, though -- he turns away at the last second and smiles against the man's bearded cheek, whispering something in his ear. The man tugs Reid towards the northwest corner of the room, but Reid shakes his head. The man shrugs and turns away, latching onto another young man walking by.

Morgan takes a step towards the dance floor, but Reid has already found a new dance partner, a shirtless man in metallic shorts who's been eyeing him almost as avidly as Morgan has for the past few minutes. He comes up behind Reid and runs his hands down Reid's arms, pulls Reid back against him. This one's not the unsub either, he’s been in the club for a while, so Morgan tries to relax again and watches Reid's new dance partner gyrate against him. Reid leans his head back against the man's shoulder and grabs the back of the man’s neck, half-closing his eyes. The man runs a hand over Reid's stomach and up towards his chest.

Morgan hears a popping noise and realizes his hand has tightened on his half-empty beer can, denting the side. He puts it on a makeshift table next to him. 

When he looks back up, Reid and his new dance partner have turned to face him, so he’s got a crystal clear view as the man Reid is dancing with slides his hand down to the front of Reid's jeans to toy with the button.

Reid’s slim fingers grab the man’s wrist and pull his hand back up Reid’s body, leaving it on his chest, but the man is persistent. Morgan rocks back on his heels, itching to wipe the smug leer off the creep’s face. Hasn’t he ever heard the phrase “no means no”? After the guy’s third attempt at getting physically into Reid’s jeans, Reid squirms in his grip and turns to face him, half-smiling and saying something right next to the man’s ear. The man shakes his head and lets go, giving Reid a dirty look and heading towards the bar. And, for a second, Reid is alone. An eddy forms around him in the crowd, dancers paired off with each other, nobody making any moves to dance with the punk kid who doesn’t seem to be interested in getting off right now.

Morgan’s heart drops through his stomach, and he pushes off the wall and heads into the crowd, trying to be casual, trying not to elbow anyone too badly. He loses sight of Reid for a moment as the crowd surges around him, his view blocked by an already tall man wearing platform shoes, but he ducks the other way and spots a familiar skinny frame.

Morgan steps up behind Reid, not so much wondering if this is a terrible idea as wondering just how terrible it’s going to prove to be, and wraps one arm around Reid's waist from behind.

"Hey gorgeous," Morgan purrs in Reid’s ear. “Mind if I cut in?”

Reid turns his head and sees who his latest dance partner is, and a flicker of surprise runs across his face. “I thought you were just going to have eyes on me,” he murmurs, spinning in Morgan’s arms and putting his hands on Morgan’s shoulders, lightly, like he’s not sure he should. Morgan grabs Reid’s waist and draws them closer to together, nudging Reid so he’ll move with the music.

“I couldn’t let you spend any time alone,” Morgan says quietly. “Our friend is in here somewhere.”

Reid sighs and slings his arms around Morgan’s neck, leaning in so he can talk right into Morgan’s ear as they dance. “This isn’t exactly what you signed up for.”

“I’m not afraid of a little dancing,” Morgan says. He hopes Reid can’t feel his heart hammering in his chest. He hopes he can forget how smooth and hot the skin of Reid’s torso feels under his fingers when they’re back at work tomorrow and everything is supposed to be normal.

Their earpieces spring to life at the same moment. "Reid, Morgan, we've got what we need from the vehicle. Calling in the warrant for the house now. We'll let you know when to get out."

"Hurry up, this music is terrible," Morgan mutters so that Reid can hear him. Reid snorts and leans into Morgan, breathing against his neck, and they’re dancing, almost for real, surrounded by terrible music and strangers and one psychopath and Morgan simultaneously wishes he weren’t here and prays for this moment never to end.

The hair on the back of Morgan's neck prickles, and he carefully turns himself and Reid in place so he can scan the crowd out of the corner of his eye. Nothing but dancers, dancers, more of them--

"Unsub, five o'clock," Reid says, running a finger down Morgan's jaw to turn his head in the appropriate direction.

"We got his attention," Morgan says. He suppresses a shiver, and wishes his gun were in his waist holster instead of his boot holster.

"And if I keep it, we keep the rest of the boys in here safe," Reid says, a weird note in his voice. “Go dance with someone else.”

“What?” Morgan says, freezing for a second in shock. Reid tries to back away, and Morgan has to hold him tighter, splay out his fingers on the small of Reid’s back to keep him in place. “Whoa, no way, that was not part of the plan.”

Reid makes a frustrated noise and stops fighting, nudging Morgan to start moving with the music again. “How else are we going to keep him distracted long enough? He takes his attention off me, he turns it to someone else in here.”

“He _keeps_ his attention on you, and I’m not with you, he takes you and drugs you and does who the fuck knows what else to you,” Morgan counters. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Six boys, Morgan,” Reid hisses. “I don’t want there to be seven.”

“Then we come up with another way to keep him distracted.”

Reid tenses for a moment, mind obviously running even faster than usual, then relaxes. “Fine,” he says. “But this is definitely not what you signed up for.”

He grabs the back of Morgan's neck, then leans in and almost kisses Morgan on the mouth, turning his head at the last second so their lips barely graze each other. Morgan can’t breathe for a second. “Reid?” he whispers, barely making a sound.

"He's a voyeur." Reid reaches behind himself and finds Morgan's hand on the small of his back, nudges it down until Morgan gets the hint and grabs his ass. "If we want to keep him watching, we need to put on a show."

"Reid--"

"Trust me," Reid says, and starts to steer them carefully through the crowd, grinding against Morgan all the while.

Morgan keeps a watch on the unsub, and thankfully he drifts along behind them, eyes fixed on Reid, totally oblivious to anything Morgan is doing. Morgan’s heart is pounding, and he’d like to believe it’s from the bass or the adrenaline but he’s pretty sure it’s because Reid keeps running those long fingers over Morgan’s neck and shoulders and pressing himself closer and closer to Morgan’s chest. Phase two of the plan has gotten away from Morgan a little bit, or maybe a lot, but it’s cool, this is the job, sometimes shit goes in unexpected directions, and this is fine, everything is fine--

"Morgan!" Morgan realizes Reid is talking into his ear. "Pull me."

"What?"

"Pull me into the back room."

Morgan blinks and realizes they’ve ended up at the edge of the crowd nearest the northwest corner of the room. “What,” he repeats, blood pounding in his ears.

"All his victims have been on the submissive side, he won't stay interested in me if he thinks I'm running the show." Reid cups Morgan’s face in his hand, looks straight into Morgan’s eyes. “Trust me. We need to get back there.”

Morgan steels himself, then grabs Reid by the shoulders and whirls him around, shoving Reid in front of him towards the heavy black curtains. Reid laughs and stumbles, and Morgan keeps advancing on him, grabbing him by the hips and steering him out of the edge of the dancing crowd and into the back room. He glances over his shoulder to locate the unsub -- still following, good -- and gives Reid one final push until they're past the curtains.

The music is muffled in the back room, but the sounds of sex echo against the high ceiling. The light is dim and yellow, and two parallel walls are lined with cubicles made of PVC pipe and cheap curtains. Reid grabs Morgan’s wrist and drags him along, darting down the row until he finds an unoccupied cubicle that faces another unoccupied cubicle. He motions Morgan in first and doesn't quite shut the curtains behind them, leaving a sizable gap.

"Reid, man, I trust you, but I'm not-- this is--" Morgan tries to put his concerns into words. Dancing is one thing, but there’s only one reason people come back here. That can’t possibly be Reid’s plan. 

"We're not going to actually have sex," Reid says hurriedly. "We're going to fake it."

"Fake it?"

There's a jingling noise as the heavy curtains are pulled back and someone else enters the room.

"Stop arguing," Reid hisses. "Make noises."

Through the gap in their cubicle’s curtain, Morgan can see the curtains of the cubicle across the way shift aside, a shadowy figure slip behind them.

"Noises? What--"

Reid drops to his knees and unbuckles Morgan's belt as loudly as possible. Morgan makes a strangled noise in his throat and almost takes a step back, but Reid is holding tight to the front of his jeans.

"Is this what you want?" Reid pitches his voice to carry, his tone low and probably the closest to sultry that he can manage. 

Morgan's heart is beating wildly in his chest -- this is too weird, too good to be true, just not fucking happening -- but there's no turning back now, not with the unsub probably sitting right across from them. "Oh, yeah, baby," he purrs. "Open that pretty mouth up."

Reid moans theatrically, and Morgan groans in response, only kind of acting. His legs take a wider stance, basically on their own. Morgan reaches out and grabs a fistful of Reid's hair, trying to make the motion look harsher than it is. With his other hand, he reaches in front of himself in what he hopes looks like the motion of taking his cock out of his pants.

"That's right, babe," he says. "Take it all in."

Reid dives forward, making enthusiastic noises that sound remarkably like he's got his mouth full, bobbing his head back and forth just enough for it to be visible to someone watching through the curtains. 

Morgan swallows hard. Reid's hair is soft in his hand, his hands clutching at Morgan's hips, and it's impossible not to imagine those full lips actually wrapped around him, those smudged-eyeliner eyes looking up at him over a mouthful of cock. Morgan's breath catches and he groans again, for real this time. _Oh no. No, don't get hard, this is not actually happening, seventeen times two is thirty-four, seventeen times three is forty one? no, fifty one, seventeen--_

Over his earpiece, Morgan hears the sound of a door breaking in, shouts of "clear!" as agents storm through the unsub's house. "Check the crawlspace," Hotch yells. But even the sound of his boss giving orders isn't helping Morgan calm down, doesn’t help him take his eyes off of Reid’s face, his bare shoulders, his jean-clad knees on the floor -- and this is absolutely the worst time to be thinking about this, but this is exactly how Morgan has imagined Reid sounding at a moment like this, a couple-dozen-hundred times in the privacy of his own hotel room. Exactly. And, seriously, how does this kid know how to pretend to suck a dick so well?

The seventeen times table, always so reliable, is failing Morgan spectacularly at this moment -- he can feel himself getting hard, and Reid's face is right in front of his open fly, so it’s going to be incredibly obvious through his boxers in one second. Morgan may not have much dignity left, but the idea of Reid staring at his actual boner while he pretends to suck his cock for the next too-many minutes is just not acceptable, not going to happen. So he tightens his hand in Reid's hair, making Reid's eyes widen (fuck, fuck, whose idea was that eyeliner, do they have any idea what they've done), grabs him by the front strap of his stupid harness, and hauls him to his feet.

Right at the last second he remembers why they're doing this, and growls into Reid's face, "Not bad, kid. Ready for more?"

"More?" Reid asks breathlessly, and if Morgan didn't know better he'd think he wasn't the only one not really acting at this point.

Morgan laughs menacingly and spins Reid around, pushing him face first against the wall. "So much more," he says. “Get those jeans off."

To his credit, Reid catches on instantly. He unzips his jeans and pushes them just far enough down for the legs to rumple, counting on Morgan's body to obscure the fact that they're not all the way off. "Go slow," he pleads.

Morgan laughs again. “You picked the wrong guy for slow, baby. You better hope you got it nice and wet. Spread them legs. Spread ‘em!" Reid shudders and complies, heel-toeing his feet out wider.

Morgan is holding himself an agonizing inch away from Reid, trying not to make it obvious they’re not actually fucking while also trying not to touch more than he should. One hand is on Reid's skinny hip, the other pressing him against the wall with the leather strap that cuts across his shoulders, and as Morgan mimes easing into Reid he squeezes Reid's hip, hoping that will be enough of a cue for Reid to make noise. Reid takes the cue in spectacular fashion, letting out a pained yelp, and then a constant string of "Ah, fuck, please, ah, slow, please, slow, pleasepleasepleaseplease--" Morgan rocks back and then forward again, playing out his motions with his fingers on Reid's skin, and Reid's voice trails off into a high-pitched whine, his head falling back onto Morgan's shoulder.

"Is that good, baby?" Morgan asks him, starting to pick up a rhythm. "Oh, fuck, _yes_ ," he groans, answering his own question. In his ear he can hear cops calling to each other, Hotch ordering an ambulance for the young man they've found drugged in the unsub's attic, Prentiss hopping back in a car with a team to come round up the unsub. It's beyond weird, having his work in his ear and his midnight fantasy in his hands and a nightmare sitting twenty feet behind him, trying to make this look realistic, trying to keep his body from responding the way it desperately wants to, trying to figure out where the line is between acting and taking advantage of this fucking weird situation. And Reid is still making these _noises_ , getting louder now like he's starting to enjoy himself. Morgan squeezes the strap of Reid's harness until the leather creaks in his fist and his nails bite into his palm, trying to distract himself from the smell of Reid's hair, Reid's panting against the wall, the heat of Reid's skin under his other hand.

"Any idea how we wrap this up?" Morgan whispers against Reid's neck, low enough that only Reid can hear him. "If I leave you in here he's going to attack you."

"We have to keep going--" Reid punctuates his matter-of-fact whisper with another loud moan-- "until the team gets here to make the arrest."

"Who knows how long that's going to take?"

"What, are you gonna run out of stamina?" Reid asks, then, louder, "Fuck, don't stop, please, your cock feels so good," and that does it, Morgan's rock hard, no amount of multiplication tables will save him now. He grits his teeth and makes some kind of subconscious decision, and--

"Yeah, work that cock, baby, get it all the way in there. Fuck, god, you're so tight," he spits out, every wet dream and guilty shower fantasy he's ever had about doing this for real piling up inside him and spilling out into the night. "Fuck, you think you're so hot with your fucking eyeliner, gonna make you beg for it, fuck you so hard you can't even think, you're not gonna walk straight for a week when I'm done with you--" Reid cries out and Morgan's mind is like a runaway train, "Yes, fucking scream for me, scream for my cock--"

"Fuck, yes, please--"

"I can't hear you."

" _Please!_ Please, yes, harder--"

"Harder? You want more?"

"Yes, more, ah, fuck right there yes yes--"

And that's the moment when the SWAT team bursts into the back room, having already secured the main club while Morgan was completely not paying attention to his earpiece. Morgan snatches his gun out of his boot holster and whirls, flinging aside the curtain, but the unsub is already on the ground with a knee in his back. He watches the bastard get cuffed and hauled off, trying not to breathe like he's just run a mile at a dead sprint.

"Morgan," Prentiss says, following the team in. "I--" she looks down and back up with an eyebrow cocked, and Morgan realizes his belt and fly are still undone. He scrambles to fasten them. "Everything okay in here?" Prentiss asks.

"Piece of cake," Morgan says.

"You got the sixth boy?" Reid asks, sliding around Morgan to get to Prentiss. He doesn’t look at Morgan.

"Safe and sound," Prentiss confirms, nodding. "He's in the hospital until the sedatives clear his system, then he should be fine." She looks skeptically at Reid's outfit. "You want a jacket?"

"Yeah, that would be good," Reid says, and slips it on. Zipped up and back to his usual demeanor, there's no sign that anything about tonight was out of the ordinary except for the smudges of eyeliner around his eyes and the frizzing in his hair where Morgan was holding it.

Hotch walks in and glances around the grimy room with mild disgust. "Good work," he says to Morgan and Reid. "Wheels up to go home at 8 am. Get one of the uniforms to take you back to the hotel, get a few hours of sleep."

Reid follows Prentiss and Hotch out of the club, casual as ever. Morgan takes a step back into the cubicle, keeps going until his back is against the wall. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back with a thunk.

Phase three of the plan: Figure out where the fuck to go from here.


	2. Chapter 2

The plane ride home is mercifully uneventful -- and although the team is usually all about debriefing tactics and teasing each other about anything that can be considered funny in hindsight, Morgan and Reid seem to be giving off enough cues that scream Let’s Not Talk About It that nobody else mentions what may or may not have happened in the back room of the club. Morgan goes home to his apartment that night and collapses on his bed, clothes still on, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that things will be back to normal on Monday, after he and Reid have had the weekend to spend some time apart and get back into their normal lives. They’ll have a new case on Monday, their focus will be on that, and everyone will forget about their little undercover operation.

His prediction proves partially true on Monday: they have a new case, one that requires their full focus. And things seem to be back to normal. Except…

Except Reid is treating him like he did when they first started working together, somehow tiptoeing around him, being perfectly professional and friendly but not quite his usual self.

The next case is the same.

And the next.

There isn’t even anything he can call Reid out on, nothing out of the ordinary enough for anyone else to notice (or at least not enough for them to mention it). Their partnership is precisely as functional as it should be, like something that walked out of an HR training on Best Practices in Teamwork. Nothing is _wrong_ \-- except, well, everything. And Morgan has a terrible suspicion that he knows why.

He feels like it’s karma, somehow: one night of almost-dancing, one almost-blowjob, one round of almost-sex, all add up to an almost-fine working relationship.

On the plane back from Santa Fe, after yet another perfectly normal (but not at all normal) case, Morgan sits fuming silently. He closes his eyes and wishes he could turn back the clock, insist that they come up with some other sort of plan, insist that one of the local cops go in as bait instead, follow Reid’s initial request and leave him alone to be targeted by the unsub -- okay, not that one, that’s an even less acceptable option than the status quo. But anything else that would have made that night not happen the way it had.

In the first piece of good luck Morgan’s had in weeks, it’s late evening when they get back to Quantico, so nobody but their team is around -- and Reid decides to stay in the office a little longer than the others, adding a few more paragraphs to his analysis of the unsub’s ransom notes. Morgan lurks outside the doors, fiddling with his phone like he’s sending a text message, until Hotch finally leaves the building and he can duck back inside.

“Can we talk?”

Reid glances up. “Sure.”

Morgan looks around the empty bullpen. “Maybe somewhere more private?”

“We’re the only ones here,” Reid says, looking at him sidelong.

“I know. Just-- humor me, please?” Morgan can’t do this here, out in the open. He’s going to be opening up enough as it is.

They duck into the briefing room, Reid perching on the edge of the table, Morgan shutting the door carefully behind them. He turns to find Reid looking at him expectantly, his face not betraying anything about his emotions.

Morgan tries to figure out how to start this conversation he desperately wished he wasn’t having, then sighs. “Okay, here’s the elephant in the room: things are weird between us, right? I know I’m not imagining it. Things haven’t been the same since-- since last month.”

Reid’s jaw tightens, and he looks down at the floor. “You’re not imagining it, no.”

“Right.” Morgan breathes deeply. “Right, so, I’m not a big fan of where we’re at right now. I miss you, man, I miss working with you the way we used to. So I wanted to apologize.”

A tiny frown line appears between Reid’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything, so Morgan continues. “I got… I don’t know what I thought I was doing, seriously, I was way over the line. Undercover or not, I don’t care what the situation was, I had no business treating a colleague like that. And when I think about how uncomfortable I must have made you, for you to get like this with me now -- it makes me feel sick to my stomach, honestly. I never want to make anyone feel that way, especially not a good friend. It was inappropriate and wrong, and-- are you ever going to say anything, or do I get to just keep going?”

“Why do you think you made me uncomfortable?”

“What?”

Reid picks up a pen from the table and twirls it between his fingers, twisting and untwisting the cap, not looking at Morgan. “What led you to believe I was uncomfortable?”

Morgan looks at him, baffled. “You just said yourself things haven’t been the same between us.”

“So?”

“So, why else would that happen except if I freaked you the fuck out? If everything had been fine in there, everything would be fine now.”

“That’s a bit of a tautology, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You’ve convinced yourself that I was uncomfortable, and therefore you’ve rationalized that your discomfort since that point has been due to the discomfort you assume I felt.” Reid motions in the air with the pen as he talks, sketching the logical connections.

“Reid, you don’t even shake people’s hands,” Morgan says, exasperated. “I don’t think it’s a stretch for me to assume you’d be uncomfortable with me grinding all up on you and pretending to shove my dick in your ass. What, are you trying to tell me that’s not the case?”

“Not exactly,” Reid says quietly.

Morgan can’t deal with this cryptic genius shit right now, he just can’t. He’s tired and heartsick and guilty and he misses his friend, who seems to be doing his best to make this conversation as frustrating and circular as possible. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Reid twists the pen cap on and off, on and off, and shrugs, still not meeting Morgan’s eyes. “That I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

“So you were just fine with me shoving you against the wall and talking dirty in your ear,” Morgan says sarcastically.

“That is what I’m saying, yes,” Reid says, his voice sharp.

The comment seems to ring in the air between them, and Morgan rocks back on his heels, feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of him. “Say that again?”

Reid scrubs a hand over his face. “I wasn’t uncomfortable with anything that happened that night,” he says, enunciating clearly, eyes still fixed on the floor. “But I can’t-- I thought we were on the same page, because if I picked up on your signals then you definitely should have picked up on mine. Except then the next day you clearly didn’t want to be around me any more than you absolutely had to be, which meant you had decided you weren’t interested after all, which, it hurt, a little, honestly. And I don’t how how I’m supposed to respect your wishes other than by being professional, but even _that_ is apparently not working for you, so… I don’t know what to do.” He finally looks at Morgan. “I’m not good at all this, I’ve never-- so I just don’t know, Morgan. You tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

Morgan’s brain is still sorting through that little speech, which is twice as long as anything else Reid’s said to him in the past several weeks, but his mouth, as always, likes to get ahead of itself. “I should have picked up on your signals,” he repeats. “Reid, what signals?”

“I told you, I’m not good at this,” Reid says, burying his face in his hands. He sounds exhausted.

“You mean you…” Morgan can feel a grin starting in the corners of his mouth, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it, because if he’s understanding this right it’s the best news he’s gotten maybe ever. “Reid, are you into me?”

“Finally, he understands,” Reid says sarcastically into his hands.

Morgan can’t stop the grin from spreading, knows he looks like a smug asshole, but fuck, is this real life? Is he dreaming? “And you’ve been avoiding me because you thought I didn’t feel the same?”

“I thought you might until a month ago, but your behavior since that time has not been consistent with attraction,” Reid says, like he’s making a point about an unsub they didn’t profile accurately on the first try.

Morgan takes a step closer to the table. “I think your profile’s off.”

Reid looks up.

Morgan takes another tentative step, like Reid’s a horse that might spook. “You read me right the first time,” he says, “I just didn’t realize-- I didn’t pick up any signals, seriously, I had no idea. I was avoiding you because I thought you would be upset and need some space. So you thought I was rejecting you, I thought I had traumatized you, and we ended up here.”

Reid pulls a face and shrugs. “They do warn us that emotional involvement makes it exceedingly difficult to build an accurate profile.”

Morgan just stares at him for a second, trying and failing to fathom just how hard he’s falling for this ridiculous know-it-all kid.

“So, what now?” Reid asks, splaying his hands out in front of him. “Elephant in the room has been identified. I don’t know where we go from here.”

Morgan steps forward again, right up into Reid’s personal space. “That really depends on where you want it to go,” he says, tucking Reid’s hair behind his ear, letting his finger trail along Reid’s neck before his hand falls back to his side. Reid makes the most beautiful little gasping noise, and Morgan decides that’s his cue to see what would happen if...

He leans down slowly, giving Reid plenty of time to back out, presses his mouth gently against Reid’s, and Reid makes another little gasping noise and melts against him. Reid’s hands flutter from the edge of the table to Morgan’s stomach, his waist, hover in midair, back to the table, and Morgan smiles into the kiss and grabs Reid’s wrists, moves them until Reid’s arms are settled around Morgan’s waist, presses in closer. He smoothes Reid’s hair down again, opens his mouth just enough to brush his tongue against Reid’s lips the tiniest bit, and feels rather than hears the sound Reid makes deep down in his chest.

Morgan breaks the kiss and looks down at Reid. “That okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Reid says breathlessly. “Yeah.” He licks his lips, and his eyes dart to Morgan’s mouth. Morgan laughs, unable to stop himself, unable to believe that this is actually happening, for real this time, and without the costumes and the terrible music and the running case commentary in his ear. Reid frowns. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby, you’re perfect,” Morgan says, and kisses him again.

He’s hyper-aware that he needs to be careful with this -- it still feels like an illusion that could shatter at any second, but even if it is real, he’s pretty sure Reid’s going to be the type to want to take it slow. Other than one obvious blind spot, he’s got a pretty good sense of what Reid’s into, and it seems unlikely he’s looking for a quick-n’-dirty bang on the briefing room table. ( _Not tonight, at least,_ says the back of Morgan’s mind.) Morgan feels more calm now than he has since before he walked into that club, because unlike what they did in there, unlike the agonizing tension of the past few weeks of work, this is one thing he’s absolutely sure how to navigate. He’s good at seduction.

Especially when the other person seems so very eager to be seduced.

Morgan deepens the kiss for a second, just to see what will happen, swiping his tongue into Reid’s mouth, and Reid rewards him with a full-body shudder and a tighter grip on his waist. Morgan pulls back again and cups Reid’s face in one hand.

“I’mma let you drive this, okay?” he says. “No going any faster than you want to go.”

Reid makes a frustrated noise. “I told you, I’m not good at all this.”

“All this?”

“This,” Reid repeats. “Kissing, relationships, sex, whatever’s happening here. I have no experience.”

“Didn’t sound like it in that nightclub,” Morgan says, smiling crookedly. “Wait -- are you serious? No experience?”

“A little bit of kissing. That’s about it. I mean, have you met me?”

“Then where did all that _yes, please, more_ shit come from?”

“International studies have found that at least 55 and up to 90 percent of men watch pornography,” Reid says matter-of-factly. “I’m an average adult male. I was just mimicking what I’ve observed.”

“You’re a lot of things, but average is definitely not one of them,” Morgan says, shaking his head. “Okay. No experience. All the more reason for me to let you take the lead. I’m not going to make you do all the work,” he adds, forestalling the complaint that’s about to come out of Reid’s mouth, “But you have to tell me if you might want to stop or slow down, all right? Even if you’re just unsure.”

“Are you this concerned about all your hook-ups?” Reid asks.

“You’re not a hook-up,” Morgan says firmly. “I don’t know _what_ you are, exactly, but not that.”

Reid tips his head to the side, his lips quirking in a smile. “Does that mean you’re not planning on having sex with me tonight?”

Morgan’s stomach does a somersault. “Up to you,” he says, and kisses Reid deeply, not holding anything back this time.

When he breaks away, he and Reid are both gasping for air. Morgan’s heart is pounding, and he wants to dive right back in, wants to strip Reid down and explore every inch of his skin, see how many noises he can make him make that aren’t inspired by porn -- but he’s slowly remembering that they’re in the middle of a Quantico briefing room, surrounded by windows and a few stray crime scene photos, and maybe this isn’t the best spot for a make-out session. “Okay, what would you rather do,” he asks, “Call it a night now and pick this up another time, or go back to my place?”

Reid swallows. “Your place.”

“You sure?”

“Are you going to second-guess every decision I make all night?” Reid asks, sounding exasperated. “I’m a competent adult, Morgan, not a blushing storybook virgin.”

“Pretty sure you’re a little of both,” Morgan teases, and Reid blushes, true to form. “Point taken, though. I’ll drive.”

The fifteen-minute drive to Morgan’s place takes about a million years, especially because neither of them is really sure what to say to each other. Morgan’s got a list of questions in his head a mile long -- _How long have you been into me? What signals did you think you were sending, and how the hell did I miss them? Gay, bi, still figuring it out? Seriously, no experience, looking like that? But apparently enough experience to want to go home with me on the first date, or day, or whatever. Speaking of which, is this a one-time thing? Is tonight my only shot with you? Am I already fucking this up?_ \-- but he knows any one of them could ruin the fragile mood, so he turns the radio up and guns it through all the yellow lights he encounters.

Finally they’re there, and inside, and Morgan is throwing his go bag on the couch and slamming the door behind them and pulling Reid into another deep kiss. Reid isn’t totally ready for it, and he awkwardly drops his go bag and satchel on their feet and stumbles back against the wall, clutching at Morgan’s shoulders for balance. Morgan steadies him with a hand on the small of his back, enjoying the feeling of Reid’s muscles moving under the fabric of his shirt, tracing the ridge of his spine.

Reid’s the one who breaks the kiss this time, turning his face away from Morgan to breathe hard. “Shouldn’t we be doing this in the bedroom?” he pants.

“If you’re ready,” Morgan says, and leads the way down the hall.

Reid perches right on the edge of the bed, almost overbalancing as Morgan climbs past him to prop himself against the pillows.

“You can get more comfortable than that,” Morgan says. He pats the spot next to him. “C’mon up here.“

“I just wasn’t sure--” Reid sighs and shrugs. “It’s your bed. It’s your space.”

“And do you have _any_ idea how long I’ve been waiting to get you in it?” Morgan asks, raising an eyebrow.

Reid nods just slightly and scoots back so he’s sitting next to Morgan.

“That’s better.” Morgan leans over and kisses him lightly, pulling away before they can get too into it, then tips Reid’s head back with a gentle touch and kisses his neck, just under his earlobe. Reid shudders. “Although,” Morgan murmurs, continuing to kiss the side of Reid’s neck, “last time I thought about having you in my bed, I imagined you without all these clothes.”

Reid makes a desperate sound and turns to kiss Morgan, hard, demanding. Morgan sits back and enjoys it until it’s interrupted by the sudden intrusion of a sweater vest, which Reid has started to pull over his head without bothering to break the kiss. Morgan grins and sheds his own t-shirt in one smooth motion, then bats Reid’s hands away from the buttons of his shirt and grabs the collar. He follows through with the motion to swing himself up and over Reid, straddling him.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Morgan purrs, kissing Reid’s neck again, then kissing down every new inch of pale skin he reveals as he unbuttons Reid’s shirt. Reid reaches forward and runs his hands over Morgan’s shoulders and back, and Morgan glances up to see a look of pure fascination in Reid’s eyes. Morgan sighs happily and gives Reid’s stomach a final kiss, having undone the last button, then sits up and shoves the shirt off of Reid’s shoulders, getting a good look at the expanse of Reid’s chest. Technically it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but that was in the strobe lights of the club, not the familiar light of his bedside lamp, not against the backdrop of his sheets, his bedroom, his apartment. That was illusion; this, he’s beginning to think, might actually be real.

He doesn’t have much time to look, unfortunately, before Reid has grabbed his face in both hands and pulled him forward for a deep kiss. Morgan smiles against Reid’s mouth and settles for exploring Reid’s body with his hands, feeling curves and planes he’s only thought about touching, teasing one dark pink nipple under his thumb, which makes Reid shudder and thrust himself forward, angling his body so Morgan will touch the other one too. Morgan evens things out, then forces himself to stop kissing Reid before the urge to pin him down and see what other spots will make him make that fucking amazing noise gets too strong.

“Hold on,” he says as Reid tries to kiss him again, “Hold on one second, let’s figure this out while I can still string two thoughts together.” He rolls off of Reid and stretches out next to him, leaving one hand splayed possessively on Reid’s stomach. “I’m gonna say we’re not gonna fuck tonight -- we’re both tired, it was a rough case, it’ll be better if we do that when we’re feeling our best.”

Reid nods. “Makes sense.”

“So what do you want?” Morgan asks.

“I--” Reid stops to consider for a second. “I don’t actually know.”

“I can touch you, you can touch me, we can touch each other at the same time, I can suck you off--” Reid’s expression changes subtly, and Morgan panics a little: “Or we can stop right now, keep it above the waist for tonight, you can stay here or I’ll drive you home--”

“What? No,” Reid says, sitting up, “I want this, I don’t want to go home--”

“Okay, okay, that’s fine, we’re good.” Morgan closes his eyes and laughs to himself, a little shakily. “G-d, I’m sorry, Reid, you have no idea how much I do not want to screw this up.”

“I think we’re probably in a first name basis kind of situation here.”

“Huh?”

“You can call me Spencer,” Reid clarifies. “We’re at that point.”

“Spencer,” Morgan says, the name unfamiliar in his mouth. He’s so used to saying _Reid_ or _kid_ or some other silly nickname.

“Derek,” Reid counters, inclining his head slightly and smiling.

“Well, Spencer, what do you want to do, then?” Morgan asks, running his hand over Reid’s stomach, one finger toying with the buckle of Reid’s belt. “You’re calling the shots.”

Reid licks his lips, Morgan watching avidly. “I really want you to suck me off,” he says finally, making all the blood in Morgan’s body rush straight to his cock, “But that seems like a selfish thing to ask for first.”

“Selfish, don’t talk to me about selfish,” Morgan says, biting back something sappy like _having you here is all I could ever need_ or _this is already beyond my wildest dreams_ , and unfastens Reid’s belt and pants, trying to shove them and his briefs all down and off together. “You get anything you want, baby.”

Reid lifts his hips, kicks his pants and underwear all the way off, and there he is, naked in Morgan’s bed, and Morgan feels like all his limbs are vibrating with the urge to carry out every daydream and fantasy he’s ever had about this moment. He pulls Reid towards him, wraps his arms around him, kisses him long and slow until Reid is panting again, rubbing his erection against Morgan’s hip. Reid whimpers when Morgan shifts his hips back to make room between them, then says “ah!” into Morgan’s mouth when Morgan’s hand finds its way down, wraps around Reid’s cock with confidence and strokes, once, twice, trying it out.

“G-d you’re beautiful,” Morgan whispers against Reid’s jaw. “I could get used to this.” Reid clutches at Morgan’s shoulders, letting his head fall back, surrendering to Morgan’s touch.

Morgan could spend years right here with Reid’s heart pounding right against him, drinking in the quiet noises he’s making as Morgan strokes his cock, long and slow, but the man made a request and Morgan’s going to honor it. He lets go of Reid, nudges him until he slides towards the middle of the bed, and climbs over him, straddling his hips for one last kiss.

“You say something if you want me to stop,” he reminds Reid before starting to kiss down Reid’s chest again, following the same path he followed before.

“Highly unlikely,” Reid says.

Morgan reaches Reid’s nipples, spends a minute giving them some love, then continues down to where Reid’s cock is resting against his stomach. He nudges Reid’s legs apart with one hand, repositions himself between them, and looks up Reid’s body to his face. Fuck, if he could frame that image, he’d never need porn again. Reid’s mouth is half open, his face flushed, hair disheveled, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Morgan. Sex personified.

Morgan grabs Reid’s cock, giving it another few strokes, watching Reid’s reaction, which is just as spectacular as he was hoping it would be. Reid’s abdominal muscles jump under the skin of his stomach, and a strangled sound escapes from his throat. The blush spreads down his neck and chest, and he’s glowing, so turned on, so gorgeous. Morgan wishes he could watch this for hours -- but, well, he’s got work to do.

He lowers his head and carefully takes Reid’s cock into his mouth, relishing the weight of it on his tongue, the way his lips have to stretch around it. It’s been a minute since he last hooked up with another guy, but it’s like riding a bicycle, right? You never forget. He moves, creating just a little bit of suction as he pulls back to the head, closing his eyes when Reid makes the most beautiful choked noise, then diving back down. It’s an overwhelming experience, getting exactly what you want, and Morgan’s not sure he can handle it if he also has his eyes open, so he explores with his other senses, hearing and touch, his hands caressing the tops of Reid’s thighs, his hipbones. When he feels like it’s safe, he opens his eyes. Reid’s chest is heaving, little moans escaping his mouth each time Morgan takes him in, and the intensity with which he’s watching his cock disappear into Morgan’s mouth is breathtaking. Morgan groans and wishes he’d had the presence of mind to take off his own pants before starting this, because things are very much uncomfortably tight down there right now. He leans down again, takes Reid as deep into his mouth as he can, lets his tongue flick over the head of Reid’s cock as he comes back up, then pulls his mouth off Reid with an audible _pop!_.

“Ah,” Reid gasps, levering himself up on his elbows, “Why, what--”

“Just hold on one second, gotta readjust,” Morgan says, getting out of his jeans and underwear as fast as he can manage. He doesn’t miss the way Reid’s eyes flash immediately to his cock, the way Reid licks his lips almost unconsciously. He’s back on the bed in an instant, settling down between Reid’s legs, back to sucking Reid’s cock in earnest. Reid lets out a cry that trails off into nothing, then cries out again when Morgan reaches up to cup his balls as he sucks. Morgan’s had some fucking hot hook-ups before, but this is next level, he’s as hard as he’s ever been without even having been touched, and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to last long when one of them does get around to touching him.

Reid’s hands are fisted in the blankets at his sides, his abdominal muscles twitching and clenching every time Morgan’s head travels down to meet them. “Oh my god,” he says softly, then louder, “Oh my god, Derek-- oh, oh, fuck--” _That’s it, baby, that’s perfect,_ Morgan thinks as Reid’s back arches off the bed, since he can’t say it out loud with his mouth full. He reaches up blindly and grabs Reid’s hand, holds it tight, lets Reid squeeze the life out of his fingers as he comes hard down Morgan’s throat.

Morgan swallows with some difficulty (that part’s not just like riding a bicycle, apparently) and sits back on his haunches, still holding Reid’s hand. Reid is still flushed and breathing hard, his eyes closed, hair a frizzy halo around his head. His cock is going limp against his thigh. He’s the most beautiful thing Morgan’s ever seen.

Reid opens his eyes and smiles shakily up at Morgan. “That was-- thank you?” he says. “Is that the right thing to say?”

“I’ll take it,” Morgan says, grinning at him.

Reid pushes himself up into a sitting position and brushes his hair out of his face. “My hands are shaking,” he observes, a note of wonder in his voice.

“Damn, I didn’t know I was that good,” Morgan jokes.

“Keeping in mind that I have exactly zero other points of comparison,” Reid says, “You’re the best.” He looks down at Morgan’s cock, still very much erect, and swallows. “I could, ah, try to return the favor.”

 _Those pink lips wrapped around him, long hair fisted in Morgan’s hand, eyes looking up as he takes it all in--_ “Another night,” Morgan says reluctantly. “Could you just-- touch me?”

He crawls up next to Reid, pulling Reid down into his arms and into another kiss, deep but not so desperate, satisfied, already getting used to having this gorgeous man in his bed. Reid wiggles until one of his arms is free, grazes Morgan’s hip with his nails, touches Morgan’s ass tentatively before backing off, strokes Morgan’s abs. Finally his long fingers make contact with Morgan’s cock, touching it cautiously, too lightly until Morgan covers Reid’s hand with his own and shows him how much pressure he likes. Reid’s a fast learner, of course, and once he has the permission he apparently needed he’s a pro at figuring Morgan out, finding all the spots and tricks that make Morgan gasp and swear into his mouth and try to shove himself further into Reid’s hand.

Morgan clings to Reid, feeling like if he lets go this might all turn out to be a particularly detailed dream. He tangles his fingers in Reid’s hair, presses their bare chests together, slings one leg over Reid’s slim hip. He’s sure he’s making it more difficult for Reid to get the right angle, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Reid is going to town on his cock, and Morgan’s prediction about not lasting long is about to be proven correct. He gives Reid one more bruising kiss, then tucks his head next to Reid’s ear, whispers “Reid-- Spencer-- I’m gonna come, fuck, Spencer, _Spencer_ ,” and he’s gone, burying his face in Reid’s shoulder as he comes.

He holds them together like that for a long moment, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex and Reid in his arms, until he senses Reid starting to get fidgety and lets him go. He snags a couple of tissues from the bedside table and hands one to Reid, who is staring at the come on his hand with a mixture of disgust and fascination.

“Usually lasts longer,” Morgan says, “But you’re so damn hot.”

“Actually, the median ejaculation latency time for men in our age bracket is 6.5 minutes, so your performance was entirely normal,” Reid says, busily cleaning his fingers.

“Mm, baby, talk statistics to me.” Morgan holds up a hand, realizing his mistake. “Don’t. That was a joke. Stats are not sexy.”

“Mm, agree to disagree,” Reid says. He stretches, arms snaking out over his head. “Can I use your shower?”

“Right in there, towels are in the cabinet above the toilet,” Morgan says, nodding towards the bathroom door. “I’m gonna shower in the guest bathroom.” As much as he’d love to see Reid pressed up against the tiles someday, all wet and vulnerable, right now he’s emotionally and physically exhausted, and shower sex is never as fun as you hope it’s gonna be.

When he returns to the bedroom a few minutes later, clean and ready to sleep for a week, he finds Reid hovering in the doorway between bedroom and bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“You need something?” Morgan asks.

Reid’s looking at the floor again, his fingers tight on the doorframe. “Am I staying the night?”

Something inside Morgan twinges. He wants to wrap Reid in his arms and never let go of him, never let him feel this insecure about anything ever again, which isn’t a realistic goal but damn it, he can try. “I’d love to have you stay if you want to,” he says, digging in his dresser for a clean pair of boxers to wear to bed. “Up to you, though. Remember, you’re driving this.”

Reid visibly relaxes. “Then can I borrow pajamas? I only have the one pair in my go bag, and they got pretty dirty chasing the unsub through the field behind the hotel.”

Morgan has a hard time choosing a side of the bed to be his -- he rarely has anyone over to stay, and tends to toss and turn all over the place -- but eventually they’re settled in, Reid wearing a t-shirt and boxers from Morgan’s drawer, and Morgan can’t stop staring at him, his wet hair on Morgan’s pillow, his body curled under Morgan’s sheets.

“We’ll have to stop by my place to get me a change of clothes before we head in to work tomorrow,” Reid says, yawning.

“Or you could just borrow from me,” Morgan says, grinning. “Relax, Reid -- Spencer -- I’m kidding, you’d look ridiculous in my clothes.”

“Plus we might as well shout from the rooftops, hey, everyone, we had sex last night.”

“Speaking of,” Morgan says, reluctant to break the magic of this evening but knowing he has to, “Are we planning to tell the team anything? I mean, if this is going to be a thing.”

“I’d like this to be a thing, to answer your bigger question.” Reid says, over-enunciating the word _thing_ with a smirk. “As for the team -- they’re profilers. Let them figure it out.”

“Works for me,” Morgan says, and succumbs to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

To be honest, Morgan is kind of worried when J.J. approaches him after the morning briefing, when they're all busy collecting go bags and case files and nobody is really paying attention to each other.

"Glad you and Spence are back on good terms," she says quietly, leaning back against his desk.

"Were we not before?" Morgan asks. Visions dance through his head of smirking gossip, sidelong glances and whispers, although he knows J.J. would never do that to them. If she knows, she'll play it cool. Garcia, now, that'll be a nightmare when that woman finds out.

J.J. raises an eyebrow at him. "We all noticed something was off. I'm just happy things are back to normal. The team works best when you two are on your game." She hands him a stack of crime scene photos to look through on the plane and heads back to her own workspace to finish prepping. Morgan breathes a tiny sigh of relief.

The case is as straightforward as cases ever are for the BAU: one sexual sadist, three victims with similar physical features, one stakeout of the unsub's favorite remote truck stop, and they’re headed back to Quantico the next day to finish up the paperwork and get some rest.

That's the intention, anyway, but J.J. gets an urgent call from the police commissioner in Flagstaff on a child abduction, so they're back on the plane that evening, reviewing more case files, building a profile of a white male in his 40s who chooses jobs where he gets to be around children. They're a couple of hours too late to save the kid, but they have solid enough evidence to put the guy away for decades, which is sometimes the only victory you can get in these cases.

They get back to Quantico in the late afternoon, and Morgan's practically seeing double he's so tired. He glances over at Reid, who at least had been able to sleep a bit on the plane, and subtly shakes his head. Reid gives him a quick half-smile and shrugs, and goes back to finishing up his parts of the case report as Morgan stumbles out to find his car.

He sleeps for a blissful fourteen hours, then gets up, goes for a run, showers, and makes himself a nice big plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, is about to give Reid a call and see if he wants to come over for dinner or something... and gets an email on his phone from Hotch with their next case and instructions to be on the plane to Milwaukee in an hour. Morgan groans, scrubs a hand over his face, then finishes his food, washes the dishes thoroughly, and re-packs his go bag.

He and Reid end up working the crime scenes together in Milwaukee, and it feels fantastic to be back in their usual rhythm -- back and forth observations, bouncing questions off of each other and the local cops, everything back to _actually_ normal, plus a bonus, an unspoken understanding that as soon as they wrap this up, they’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other. But the Milwaukee case is followed promptly by an arsonist in Delaware, then a serial rapist in Fresno, and on, and on. Morgan's always glad to be putting bad guys away, but he can't help feeling that all these unsubs somehow knew that he was starting a new thing and decided to pull this shit one right after the other on purpose. 

All in all, it's almost a week and a half until they get a day where Morgan can take his brain out of work mode long enough to even really think about this... whatever that he and Reid have going. Before he leaves the office on that Friday, more than ready for an actual weekend, he jots his personal cell phone number down on a Post-it along with the name "Derek" and slips it stealthily into Reid's bag.

The phone rings Saturday midmorning, a number that he doesn't have saved, and Morgan mutes the TV and picks it up.

“This is Derek."

"Is this your personal number?"

Morgan settles back against the couch, grinning. "I figured it'd be better. I mean, I don't care about the fraternization rules, but it feels better not to use department resources to break them, right?"

"So you’re still interested in, in this?"

"Of course," Morgan says. "Now that we have a second to breathe between cases, anyway."

"Yeah, it's been..." Reid sighs. "It's been an intense couple of weeks."

"Do you want to rest?" Morgan asks. “There’s no rush on this. I want to spend time with you, but if you need to recharge, I completely understand."

"Spending time together would be nice. I'm free tonight. And, well, all other times."

"It's a date, then," Morgan says, then kicks himself. "Or-- not a date. Unless you want it to be. We can just... hang out." God, why is he babbling like a lovestruck twelve-year-old?

"If by hang out, you mean, uh-- do what we did last time, I would enjoy that," Reid says, and Morgan can hear the blush in his voice.

Oh, right, that's why.

"You know I'm down for that," Morgan says. "But if you want to do more typical date things, you let me know. We could go see a movie. Is there anything out now you’ve been meaning to see?"

"Unlikely.”

“Okay, then. Dinner? Drinks?”

“I defer to your expertise,” Reid says. “I’m free at six. Text me where you want me.”

 _Everywhere, all the time,_ Morgan thinks, but he says, “Come over again. We’ll have a night in.”

“I’ll be there at six.”

Morgan puts the phone down, unmutes the TV, checks his watch, mutes it again, turns it all the way off. Eight hours until Reid gets here. Eight hours to get ready.

If only he had the first clue what that means he should be doing.

In the end, he settles for trying to make it as normal a Saturday as possible: fairly easy workout, phone call to mom, couple episodes of trashy TV, laundry, grocery shopping. He picks up a couple of nice steaks at the meat counter, and stops by the upscale wine place at the end of his block to get something decent.

When six o’clock rolls around, he’s listening to “Sign O’ The Times” in the kitchen (Al Green would have been way too on-the-nose) and trying to pretend like the butterflies in his stomach are mostly from hunger.

The knock on the door comes just as the timer is going off for the roasted potatoes. He whisks them out of the oven, deposits the pan on the stove, and hurries to let Reid in, pulling off his oven mitts as he goes.

“Hey,” he says. “Come on in.”

“Are you cooking?” Reid asks, incredulous, as he toes his shoes off and follows Morgan into the kitchen.

“Steak, potatoes, green beans,” Morgan says. “What, you didn’t think I could?”

“I’m just surprised.” Reid settles down at the kitchen table.

“Most important part of being a ladies’ man -- how’d you think I got so much action?”

“You’re exceedingly conventionally attractive and have well above average social skills.”

“That’s how you get ‘em home,” Morgan says, wondering if it’s weird to be talking about this, or rude to all the women he’s slept with to be using them to flirtation fodder with a more serious fling. He should have known that flirting with Reid would break all the normal rules. He hands Reid one of two glasses of wine that have been breathing on the counter. “Making breakfast is how you keep ‘em here for round two.”

Reid raises his eyebrows. “Is that what you’re trying to do with me?”

 _Round two, three, ten, fifty…_ “Let’s take it one step at a time,” Morgan says. “Dinner first.”

They chat about their Saturday routines, the joke Prentiss made on the plane the other day, the latest Garcia-and-Kevin gossip (Morgan refuses to explain the term _pegging_ to Reid, telling him to look it up sometime, definitely not on a work computer). It would be easy to dig into the details of the cases they’ve been working, but that’s dangerous territory. Nothing kills the mood faster than a handful of unsubs.

The steaks are a little more well done than Morgan would like -- he’s been relying on takeout far too often, his cooking skills are rusty -- but Reid seems happy with his food, and Morgan is happy to see him happy. Conversations with Reid always go anywhere and everywhere, random facts about the migration patterns of Yellow Warblers mixing with inquiries into how Morgan’s mom is doing and gushing enthusiasm about a new recording of Beethoven’s piano sonatas that Rossi gave him. In the office, Morgan usually has to cut him off so they can get to the point, but sitting together at Morgan’s kitchen table, Reid can let his brain run wild. Morgan’s never sure where he’s going to jump to next, but it’s fun to try and keep up.

Morgan has just shoveled his last bite of green bean and potato into his mouth when Reid stops meeting his eyes and says with visible effort, “So, tell me about sex.”

Morgan gives himself a moment to swallow so he doesn’t choke. “What do you mean?”

Reid stares into his own mostly-empty wine glass, rolling the stem between his fingers. “I’m an expert in many things, but I think it’s safe to say you’ve got me beat in that particular area. What should I know?”

Morgan grins. “Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very, _very_ much…”

“Not that,” Reid says, exasperated, waving an impatient hand at Morgan. “I don’t-- I don’t usually do things without _knowing_ about them first, but I’ve read as much of the available literature on the subject of sex as I’ve been able to access in the past few weeks and mostly what I’ve learned is I need to do it to understand how to do it.” He sighs like he’s frustrated with himself for not being able to absorb the skill of being good in bed by reading about it. “I’m just looking for a little insight, here.”

“Into what, exactly?”

Reid shrugs his shoulders up around his ears, looking desperately uncomfortable. “What you like? In, ah, in bed?”

Morgan frowns at him. “Spencer, if you’re not comfortable even talking in euphemisms, we should probably be taking this a lot slower than we are.”

“No!” Reid says, looking panicked. “I just want to know--” he sighs again. “This is… it’s very different for me, this impulse, very _primal_. I’m used to thinking through everything I do, step by step. I do it so fast it might look instinctive, but really it’s just based on what I know. I do things by feel like this so infrequently, it’s hard to know if I’m doing it right, or well. But I know I want this.”

Morgan takes a sip of wine to cover his impulse to reach out and pull Reid into a bear hug, hold him until his self-doubt melts away. “Last time was honestly great,” he says finally. “I don’t think you have to worry about being bad at this. But since you obviously are worried anyway,” he says, cutting off Reid’s protest before it has a chance to begin, “Let’s make this a learning experience. Hm? You can do what you want to me, I’ll tell you if it feels good. Like a scientific experiment, right, _Doctor_ Reid?” Reid looks at him quizzically. “Not into the roleplaying thing? Okay.”

“Is it really roleplaying if I am actually a doctor?” Reid muses. Morgan shakes his head ruefully and gets up, clears their empty plates. “Although I guess you were probably referring to medical roleplay, given that that’s one of the more common erotic roleplaying scenarios, so since I’m not a medical practitioner, that _would_ be a fantasy situation.” Morgan steps right up to Reid’s chair, into his personal space, and Reid looks up at him. “Not one I’d be interested in, though, no,” he finishes.

“Good to know,” Morgan says, and leans down to kiss him.

It’s been such a long week and a half waiting for this moment, Morgan was worried he’d built it up in his head more than the reality could live up to -- but no, it’s just as good as he remembers. Morgan backs up as Reid stands, grabbing the front of Morgan’s t-shirt, drawing them closer together. Reid’s lips are soft and his heart is beating fast and Morgan’s fingers sink oh-so-easily into his hair, finding a comfortable hold. He opens his mouth just a little, licks at Reid’s lips. A thrill runs through him when Reid does the same thing back, tentatively then with growing confidence. Morgan groans and manages to tear himself away.

“Bedroom?” he murmurs against the corner of Reid’s mouth. 

“Yes please,” Reid says.

Morgan sheds his clothes as they go, t-shirt in the kitchen, belt in the hallway, jeans and underwear in the doorway of the bedroom. He’s fully naked by the time they make it to the bed, and he pulls Reid into another quick kiss before they can sit down.

“I’m all yours,” he says, stepping away. “Whatever you want to try on me, go for it.”

Reid’s gaze flashes up and down’s Morgan’s body. He looks torn. “Wouldn’t it be better if you--”

“Nope, this is all about you figuring things out,” Morgan says. “I’ll tell you when I do or don’t like what you do, but I’m not gonna give you too many hints.” He grins. “That would bias the experiment, right?”

Reid looks him over again, more slowly this time. He takes a deep breath. “Right. Lie down, please.”

Morgan does as he’s told, and Reid stretches out next to him, curving his body around Morgan’s. He runs a hand over Morgan’s chest, watching the progress of his fingers over Morgan’s skin, then refocuses on Morgan’s face. “I know you like this part,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and leans down to kiss Morgan.

Last time Reid’s kisses started out tentative and moved into desperate; this one is more confident, more relaxed. Reid strokes the side of Morgan’s face as they kiss, opens his mouth and licks across Morgan’s lips, carefully worries Morgan’s lower lip with his teeth. Morgan moans a little at that, and Reid makes an echoing noise, sounding pleased with himself.

His mouth moves away from Morgan’s, working across Morgan’s jaw and down his neck, breath hot against Morgan’s skin. Morgan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Reid’s hair. Reid’s hands are exploring Morgan’s torso again, carefully brushing at Morgan’s nipples, then doing it again more firmly when Morgan groans again.

“Is that what you like?” Reid asks softly against the hollow of Morgan’s throat. “When I’m a little rough?”

“I like it when you’re confident,” Morgan says. “If you’re gonna do something to me, do it like you mean it.”

“What, like this?” Reid’s hand slides down over Morgan’s abs and wraps around Morgan’s cock, which has been paying increasing attention to the proceedings and is now raring to go. Morgan chokes on a laugh.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Like that.”

Reid kisses him again, his hand starting to move on Morgan’s cock, immediately finding the rhythm that made short work of Morgan last time they did this. Reid pushes himself up on one elbow and looks at Morgan with a frown. “I already know how this part works,” he says. “You like it like this--”

“ _Fuck_ , Spencer--”

“--and then slow like this--”

“Ah!” Morgan’s hips arch off the bed, trying to get more contact with Reid’s fingers. Morgan opens his eyes and sees Reid smirking down at him.

“Yeah, you got that down,” Morgan manages to get out in between gasps, and then makes a noise that sounds embarrassingly like a whine when Reid’s hand stops moving.

“So I should try something else this time,” Reid says. He looks Morgan over, slowly, obviously weighing options in his head. “Would you like me to go down on you?”

“Not gonna say no to that,” Morgan says. Even now, the second time they’ve had sex, where there’s no room for misunderstandings about what they might be doing, he still can’t totally believe this is his life now, that this beautiful man that he’s teased and challenged and put his life on the line for and fantasized about a million times is about to-- “Oh-- oh, fuck, yes--”

Reid has flipped himself around so his mouth can get to Morgan’s cock, and is running the flat of his tongue over the head, brow furrowed in concentration. His hair hangs over his face a bit, but Morgan still has a pretty fucking great view of his lips as they wrap around Morgan’s cock, slide down. Reid chokes a little as he goes too far, and pulls back, breathing hard.

“Take your time,” Morgan says, reaching over to brush Reid’s hair out of his eyes. “You don’t need to take it like a champ in the first thirty seconds.”

“How do people do this?” Reid asks. “The human mouth is only four to five inches deep, even an average penis is long enough to easily trigger the gag reflex.”

“You calling my penis average?” Morgan jokes. “It’s more about the motion than the depth. Girls in porn -- or guys -- might make a big deal out of shoving it all in there, but that’s just for show, that’s not a good blowjob.”

“So it’s more…” Reid stares down Morgan’s erection again with an appraising look that definitely should not be as hot as it is, then takes it into his mouth again, more gradually this time, sliding his tongue along the underside. Morgan moans, and Reid goes a little faster, figuring out a rhythm.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it, baby. You are too fucking smart for your own good-- fuck, just like that with your tongue-- ah, careful, teeth, slow down, no teeth, yeah, there we go--” Morgan watches his cock disappear into Reid’s mouth, can’t tear his eyes away from the view. Reid’s lips are wet, stretched around the base of Morgan’s cock, and as he pulls up Morgan catches a glimpse of his tongue as it flicks out over the head before he leans down again. Morgan sinks into the sensation of it all, the heat and wet and oh so fucking good pressure, the brush of Reid’s hair against his thigh, the rustle of bedsheets and the whoosh of Reid’s breathing as he sucks Morgan’s cock, steadily and thoroughly and with obvious enjoyment. 

Morgan feels himself descending into incoherence, reaches out blindly next to him and makes contact with Reid’s shirt. He grabs it, pulls it roughly untucked, runs his hand down so he can rub Reid’s cock through the front of his pants. Reid makes a surprised noise, muffled by Morgan’s cock in his mouth, and his rhythm falters.

“You’re distracting me,” he says reproachfully, “I’m trying to learn something here--”

“Well, you’re learning that sex is two people, and both of us need to be having a good time,” Morgan says. He’s trying to undo Reid’s belt one-handed and it’s not going well. “Why do you wear these things that are so difficult to take off you?”

“I wasn’t really taking that into consideration when I bought them,” Reid says. “And I am having a good time, I’m just trying to focus.”

“Yeah, well, I’m impatient,” Morgan says. He rolls over on his side and manages to get Reid’s belt undone, his pants unzipped. “C’mon, I want you naked.”

Reid reluctantly lets go of Morgan’s cock, leaving it to hit Morgan’s stomach with a _thwack_ noise, and starts to unbutton his shirt. “So you like us to be on an equal playing field,” he muses. 

“It’s more I just want to get my hands on that body,” Morgan says. 

Reid raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, squirming out of his pants. "Right."

"Oh, no, don't you do this whole insecure bit with me right now," Morgan says, pushing himself up so he can look right in Reid's eyes. "You're hot, Spencer. I can't speak for the whole world's tastes, but you are exactly what I want." He waits for Reid to finish removing his socks, then grabs his wrist and pulls Reid's hand back to his cock. " _This_ is all because of you and how hot you are," he says softly.

Reid sighs sharply, then pushes Morgan back onto the bed and rolls on top of him, leaning down for a kiss. Morgan wraps his arms around Reid's waist and makes a happy noise. Reid is slim but solid, his weight and the warmth of his skin comforting against Morgan's chest. Morgan traces his fingers along the muscles of Reid's back, the curve of his spine, wishing he could memorize every detail of this feeling. And then Reid shifts his hips just enough, and his cock brushes against Morgan's and Morgan lets out a moan and grinds up against Reid, and Reid breaks the kiss, grinning.

"Interesting," he says, a little out of breath, and rocks his hips against Morgan's again.

"Fuck," Morgan bites out. The pressure of their cocks rubbing together is amazing, and Morgan can feel Reid's cock twitching against his own with each stroke. Reid’s back flexes under Morgan's hands as he arches to find the right angle. His hair is hanging down around their faces like a curtain and Morgan can feel every heartbeat, hear every little noise, smell Reid's skin and his shampoo and watch him bite his lip as he rubs himself against Morgan over and over again. Morgan can't stop staring down their bodies, can't remember when anything has felt as good as having Reid hovering over him, eyes half-lidded and muscles straining and making little, broken-off noises of pleasure with every push of his hips.

They grind together like teenagers in the back seat of a car until Reid winces and shifts up onto all fours. "Too much friction, sorry," he says.

"Lube in the bedside table, top drawer," Morgan gasps, desperate not to lose this sensation, and then as Reid fishes the bottle out of the drawer and tries to hand it to Morgan, Morgan has an idea. "You wanna fuck me?"

Reid looks at him, not comprehending for a second. "I," he starts, "Can I? I mean. Yes, I do, but. Really?"

"Please," Morgan says. He reaches down, closes Reid's fingers around the bottle of lube. "I'll talk you through it, come on, please."

"I just, I thought you would, I've never--"

"You wanted to learn what I like, right?" Morgan says. He reaches up to smooth Reid's hair down. "This is what I want. Only if you're up for it, but, this. Please."

Reid ducks down for a kiss, his tongue sliding across Morgan's lips and making Morgan groan, then rolls off of Morgan, kneeling between the legs that Morgan is only too ready to spread. He coats his fingers in lube, then presses one carefully and precisely against Morgan's entrance. His face is a mask of intense concentration, and Morgan watches him just as intently as he eases one finger in. Morgan makes himself let out a slow breath, silently so Reid won't hear and get spooked. It's been a while, no matter how much he wants this, his body needs a little bit of time to readjust.

Reid seems to understand this, somehow, and he stays still for a long moment before sliding his finger back out part of the way, then pressing in again, deeper. Morgan sighs contentedly, feeling himself relax, remembering how good this can feel with someone who's careful and caring. Reid is undoubtedly both of those things as he continues slowly fucking Morgan with one finger, adding a little more lube when he needs it, watching every shiver and ripple of sensation through Morgan's body as he goes.

"More," Morgan breathes after a while, "I can do more."

Reid licks his lips and nods, adding more lube to a second finger and carefully sliding it in, waiting for a nod from Morgan before he starts to move his hand. "This is significantly easier from this angle," he says. "I've been trying this on myself, and I'm barely able to get my hand into position no matter how I bend."

An image flashes through Morgan mind of Reid twisted around on himself, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration, fingers buried in his ass, slowly moving like he's doing to Morgan right now, and his cock twitches and he clamps down on Reid's fingers. Reid looks up from what he's doing and smiles, looking confused.

"You can't say shit like that and not expect me to react," Morgan says. "Fuck, _fuck_ , yes. Any of your reading tell you what the prostate is?"

"I knew what the prostate is already from basic anatomy," Reid says absently, but he shifts the angle of his fingers just right and Morgan swears and sees stars. "Its significance in sexual intercourse was a new concept, though." He deliberately brushes over it again, and again, and when Morgan's eyes have stopped rolling back in his head, he sees Reid smirking at him. "Is that what you wanted me to do?"

"I want you to fuck me," Morgan says, totally out of control. "Now, I'm ready, condoms in the drawer with the lube, _please_ ," he groans as Reid slowly draws his fingers out of him. "Want this so bad, baby, want you--"

"So you like talking in bed, but not in complete sentences," Reid observes coolly as he inspects the condom, figuring out which way it rolls.

"You are way too fucking calm right now," Morgan says. He sits up, leans forward to help Reid roll the condom on, grabs the lube, spreads a bunch over Reid's cock. "Come on," he says, laying back and planting his feet wide so his knees are bent, ass open for Reid. "Get in me, _now_ \--"

"Are you always this impatient?" Reid asks, positioning himself over Morgan. He lines himself up carefully and starts to push in.

"Nng," Morgan whines, watching Reid's face. The smug expression melts off of Reid's features as he eases inside, his mouth falling open and his eyes shutting tight as he slides into Morgan. "Open those eyes, baby, open 'em, I want to see you while you fuck me for the first time." Reid does as he's told, his breath coming in pants. " _Fuck_ , baby, that's so good, just a little more--" Morgan moans as Reid bottoms out inside him, his slim arms shaking a bit where he's holding himself above Morgan. "Now just stay there for a second. Is it good?"

"Yes," Reid pants, "Yes, oh, _god_ \--"

"I’ve wanted this so bad,” Morgan whispers. He splays his hands out over Reid’s chest, runs them over Reid’s shoulders, down his back, the muscles tense with effort and emotion. “I’ve wanted to see the look on your face, right at this moment, see how good I can make you feel, watch you as you start to fuck me.” Taking his cue like a pro, Reid moves his hips, pulling slightly out of Morgan and sliding back in, too careful for Morgan’s taste. “That’s it, try it out -- _fffffuck_ \-- but once you’re ready I want you to go for it, remember, I like it when you touch me like you mean it.”

“I mean it,” Reid says, his voice almost a growl it’s so low, and he thrusts into Morgan harder this time.

“I wanna feel it if you do,” Morgan says. He slips a hand down in between them to stroke his cock in time with Reid’s thrusts, holding himself lightly, not wanting this to be over too quick. Reid is building towards a steady rhythm, his mouth hanging open in that way that always makes Morgan want to shut it with a kiss. “Talk to me, tell me how you like it, I like that.”

Reid makes a strangled noise. “It feels so good, ah, so--” his face contorts in that weird grimace-smile he does sometimes, “I can’t even put together a coherent sentence, that’s how good it is -- I’m _inside_ you, it feels like I’m going deeper every time even though that’s not, mmm, not how anatomy works, oh, _fuck_ \--”

“Yeah, you like that?” Morgan asks, rolling his hips up again to meet Reid’s. “Oh, yes, get all the way in there, I want to feel it in the morning.”

“Is this pace right?” Reid asks breathlessly. “Do you want faster, slower, harder?”

“I want whatever you want to give me, baby, I want you to be you,” Morgan says incoherently. He’s stroking his cock harder now, squeezing the base to try and stave off the monumental orgasm that’s building in the pit of his stomach. “Just love having you in me, don’t worry about getting it right, you’re already getting it perfect.”

Reid’s eyes are closed again, his chin tucked against his chest. “I don’t think I can do this much longer,” he whispers, “I’m not going to last, oh, fuck, oh, _oh_ , yes--”

“That’s just fine,” Morgan says, picking up the pace on his cock and shuddering as he feels Reid get even harder inside of him. “Try and hold out till I come, though, baby, I want you to feel that, want you to feel how good this is for me--” he reaches up and grabs at Reid’s wrist, needing an anchor as he reaches the edge. “Not gonna be long now, fuck, _yes_ fuck me just like that, oh you’re gonna make me come so hard, oh fuckfuck _fuck_ \--” Morgan comes hard, seeing stars again, shuddering around Reid’s cock and spilling out all over his own stomach and chest. Reid cries out, fisting his hands in the sheets on either side of Morgan’s head, his rhythm faltering. He thrusts into Morgan erratically a few more times, as deep as he can, and then Morgan can feel his cock pulsing as he comes, his whole body shaking with it so hard he collapses down onto Morgan’s chest.

They stay there for a minute, breathing hard, Morgan enjoying the weight of Reid’s body covering him. He reaches up to stroke Reid’s hair.

Reid turns his head to smile at Morgan, then rolls to the side, just enough to ease himself out of Morgan. They both groan, and Morgan rolls to follow Reid, pulling him in for a thorough kiss.

“That was incredible,” he says, and means it literally, like _If you had told me a month ago that I would get to do this with you, I never in a million years would have believed you_. 

“Yeah,” Reid says. “I-- That was… wow.”

“Dr. Reid, are you speechless?” Morgan asks, grinning. “Is this what it took to make you stop talking for thirty seconds?”

“Was that your goal this whole time?” Reid asks indignantly. “Because look, a substantial proportion of the blood in my body has been rerouted to various extremities for the past thirty minutes, I think I can be forgiven for not being as eloquent or talkative as I usually am.”

“Joking, it was a joke,” Morgan says. He shows Reid how to get rid of the condom and clean up, and then when they’re settled back into bed, he remembers something. “Hey, earlier when I asked you to fuck me, you started to say ‘I thought you would’ -- thought I would what?”

“You’re undeniably an alpha male,” Reid says. “I thought you would want to, ah, be on top.”

Morgan laughs. “Oh, we’ll get to that, as long as you’re interested,” he says, kissing Reid’s forehead. “It just made more sense to start with me, since I’m into it and I’ve got some experience already. But if you’ve been practicing on yourself,” he adds, remembering Reid’s comment, “Maybe we can try it out sooner than I thought.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be tonight,” Reid says.

“We’re not all twenty-six, pretty boy, that’s all I’ve got for tonight,” Morgan says. Reid looks disappointed, so he adds, “Stay the night, though, you can learn about the joys of morning sex.”

“Does that come before or after the part where you make me breakfast to keep me around?”

“Whatever you want, baby,” Morgan says. "I got you."


	4. Chapter 4

As BAU cases go, this one has been remarkably non-fucked-up. Child abductions are serious, but once they figure out the unsub is the mom who just lost custody, not the neighbor, it’s easy enough to figure out where she’ll go next -- they get kiddo back well within the first 24 hours, a little sleepy and confused but none the worse for the wear. It’s already past 1 am when they finish up, though, and it’s in everyone’s best interest for their pilot to be well-rested, so Hotch calls for wheels up in the morning, and the team trudges to Boise’s most aggressively mid-range hotel to get some sleep before heading back to the East Coast.

Back in the beige stripes and inoffensive landscape photography of his hotel room, Morgan stretches, working out a kink in his shoulder from pressing himself against the wall of that grocery store during the standoff. He can hear a shower running next door in Prentiss’s room, and telltale snoring from Rossi’s room on the other side. The walls in this place are paper thin. He’s still a little too keyed up to go to bed, and there’s less than nothing on the TV. He scrolls aimlessly through emails on his phone, tries to rustle up the motivation to at least watch infomercials for a while, wishes he’d remembered to throw the book he’s reading into his go bag instead of leaving it abandoned on his kitchen table. He’s just about to give up and get into bed to toss and turn for a while when there’s a soft, precise knock on the door.

Morgan knows who it is before he looks through the peephole, but he can’t imagine why Reid would be at his hotel room at 2 in the morning. He opens the door quickly.

“What’s wrong?”

Reid frowns at him. “Nothing? And keep your voice down, it’s two in the morning, people are sleeping.”

Morgan lets Reid in and shuts the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting,” Reid says. He drops his voice to a whisper. “We were supposed to be spending tonight at my place.”

“Not everyone is sleeping,” Morgan warns Reid, nodding towards the wall the room shares with Prentiss’s. “We’ll be back tomorrow, we can make up for lost time. No reason to break our rules about how we behave in the field.”

“I know, but… six months, Derek,” Reid says. “It seems like the kind of thing you commemorate on the actual day.”

“It is,” Morgan says. He reaches out to stroke Reid’s cheek. Reid leans into the touch, closing his eyes happily, and Morgan sighs. “But unfortunately it hasn’t been the actual day for a few hours now, so, might as well not risk it.”

Reid steps closer, sliding his arms around Morgan’s waist. “Or,” he says, “We could stop wasting time talking. It’s still yesterday in Hawaii, but only for a little while longer.”

“Of all the flimsy excuses,” Morgan starts, and Reid leans in and plants a soft kiss on his lips. Morgan’s eyes shut of their own accord, and he feels the tension of the day start to drain from his body. He sucks in a sharp breath when Reid’s mouth opens, just enough to tease Morgan’s lips with the tip of his tongue.

Just as suddenly as the kiss started, Reid ends it. Morgan opens his eyes to find Reid’s mouth quirked to the side in a rueful half-smile. “I guess you’re right,” he says softly, “We should probably just wait until tomorrow. We’ll have plenty of time after we get done with the wrap-up work on this case, assuming there isn’t another one right away.”

“You are going to be the death of me, pretty boy,” Morgan grumbles, but he grabs Reid around the waist and kisses him hard anyway, and after that there’s really not much more to say.

Even six months in, Morgan can’t get over how lucky he is. He loves knowing every inch of Reid’s body like the back of his hand, which spots to kiss, which spots are ticklish, which spots will make Reid arch and gasp in his arms. He loves knowing that Reid isn’t a big fan of having his hair pulled in bed but will gladly accept a scalp massage on a rainy afternoon in front of the TV, that despite all appearances he actually carefully plans out his outfit every morning, that there are books he re-reads on a regular basis even though he has them memorized and when Morgan mentions having picked one up to see what all the fuss was about Reid will practically tackle him in excitement. He loves it all equally, not just the sex but the day-to-day intimacies that they get to share in the brief moments between cases. And as much as he knows it’s a bad idea to even be kissing Reid right now, much less to be unbuttoning his shirt and helping him balance as he steps out of his pants, as frustrated he is to be breaking his six-month record of perfectly professional behavior in the field, deep down he’s glad they’re doing this tonight. If it’s important to Reid, it’s important.

The hotel bedspread is scratchy against their bare skin, so Morgan tosses it off the bed before rolling back into Reid’s waiting arms, kissing him deep and longing. Reid kisses back with that boundless enthusiasm of his. Morgan considers himself a guy with a pretty healthy libido, but Reid’s stamina is something else when he’s in the mood, he can tire Morgan out and be ready for more twenty minutes later. Morgan has to slow them down sometimes, remind Reid with his hands and his mouth and a few whispered words that it’s not a race, no need for desperation, Morgan’s going to be right here for as long and as often as Reid wants him. 

Reid’s cock is already hard against Morgan’s hip. Morgan reaches down to stroke it, swallowing Reid’s gasp in another kiss. “Shh,” he whispers against Reid’s jaw, then kisses his way down Reid’s neck, rolling them over until Morgan’s on top. Reid’s legs spread automatically to accommodate Morgan kneeling between them. Reid grabs for his pants, discarded on the corner of the bed, and fishes a condom and a travel-sized bottle of lube out of the pocket.

Morgan shakes his head. He’ll have to remember to give Reid crap about clearly having planned this all along… sometime later. For now, he gets to enjoy pressing his fingers deep inside Reid, watching Reid’s lips move soundlessly and his body tense and relax as Morgan works him open. With six months of practice, he knows exactly the way Reid likes it: careful but not gradual or tentative, almost matter-of-fact, pushing Reid right to the edge of what he can take in any given moment but never going too far. Morgan indulges himself a little, continuing to finger Reid a few moments longer than absolutely necessary -- he loves the way Reid squirms and frowns in frustration. Morgan grins, his tongue between his teeth. Hey, serves the kid right for starting this in circumstances where he won’t be able to tell Morgan off for teasing him.

Finally Reid snaps, hooking a leg around Morgan’s back and flipping them over with a grunt of effort. (Morgan helps the motion along more than a little -- he likes what usually comes next.) He pins Morgan’s legs in place, straddles them, and grips Morgan’s cock, fingers flying through the process of condom-lube-more lube-line it up with practiced ease. He looks right into Morgan’s eyes as he sinks slowly, inch by inch, down onto Morgan’s cock.

Morgan shudders down to his bones, wishing he could let fly the string of dirty talk this moment calls for. He settles for watching Reid’s face, looking for the wave of pleasure that always courses through his body as Morgan’s cock fills him up. Morgan’s figured out from various bits of half-crazed orgasmic babbling and sleepy post-coital whispers that what Reid likes most about being fucked is the fullness, the connection of having Morgan inside him as far as he can go. Morgan lets his head fall back against the pillows, basking in the sensation of Reid’s body shivering around his cock, Reid’s thighs pressed on either side of his waist, hot and tense, Reid’s hands braced on his stomach.

He looks up when Reid starts to rock back and forth, fucking himself slow and deep on Morgan’s cock. Morgan bites his lip hard to keep from moaning out loud and moves with him. They find a steady rhythm, fast enough not to tease, slow enough that Morgan has plenty of time to drink in the sight of Reid’s whipcord-thin body curving down to meet Morgan’s rising hips. Reid’s eyes are nearly closed and his mouth is hanging open and his cock is achingly hard between their bodies, bouncing with every stroke. Morgan grabs Reid’s hips, fingers digging in, and pulls him down hard on Morgan’s cock.

Reid makes a half-noise that Morgan knows would have been nearly a scream if they were at home. With Morgan holding his hips and balancing him, he manages to take one hand off Morgan’s stomach and touch himself, long fingers quickly falling into the pattern of short, twisting strokes Morgan’s seen dozens of times now and never gets tired of watching. Morgan times it just right, thrusting up into Reid hard every time Reid’s thumb moves across the head of his cock, and Morgan can perfectly imagine the litany of curses that would be coming out of that open pink mouth on any other night.

Morgan’s going through his trusty seventeen times table in his head, determined to send Reid over the edge first. It’s become his own secret competition with himself, trying to make each time better than the last, to make Reid come apart at the seams harder, better, more thoroughly than the time before. He’s clearly winning today. Reid is flushed all the way down his neck and across his shoulders, his chest and thighs shining with sweat, hair a disheveled cloud around his head, panting hard with every roll of Morgan’s hips. Morgan watches entranced as the muscles of Reid’s stomach spasm, his hand becomes a blur on his own cock, and then his whole body goes taut as he comes, streaking Morgan’s chest with white.

Morgan is ready for it, arms out to catch Reid as he goes boneless like he always does after a particularly good orgasm. He rolls them over carefully, still buried inside Reid’s ass, and slowly rolls his hips, feeling every inch of the drag of his cock inside Reid. He tucks his face into the crook of Reid’s shoulder, presses a kiss there, keeps fucking him slow and steady and unrelenting. After a minute, Reid has recovered enough to curl one leg around the backs of Morgan’s thighs, changing the angle, and Morgan can only get in a couple more strokes before his orgasm runs up his spine like lightning, knocking the breath out of him.

They cling to each other, silently panting and sticking to the beige hotel sheets, wrapped in each other for long enough that Morgan is on the verge of falling asleep when Reid kisses him and starts to disentangle himself.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Morgan asks under his breath.

“Back to my room to sleep,” Reid says. He leans in to kiss Morgan sweetly. “Gotta rest up so we can make up for lost time tomorrow.”

Morgan grabs Reid’s wrist. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “We’ve broken our rules this much, now the least you can do is let me wake up next to you in the morning.”

A crooked smile appears on Reid’s face. “Okay. But at least let me wipe off, I’m a mess.”

“Yeah, but you’re my mess,” Morgan says, not caring at all that that doesn’t make any sense. He cleans himself up while Reid is in the bathroom, then climbs under the sheets, not letting himself doze off until he feels Reid settle in, his back curled against Morgan’s chest.

“Happy six-month anniversary,” he murmurs into Reid’s ear, snuggling closer.

“Anniversary is derived from the Latin _annus_ , meaning year, and _versus_ , meaning turn, so a six-month anniversary is really an oxymoron--” Reid says sleepily.

“Spencer--”

“--a more appropriate term might be something like _mensisversary_ , literally _the turn of the month_ , or maybe _annimedius_ , half a year--”

“Shut up and sleep, Spencer.”

“Okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(“So,” Garcia says in Morgan’s ear a few days later, while one of her seven-variable searches is chugging away on her computer, “When were you planning on telling me?”

“Telling you what?”

“There are rumors on the wind,” Garcia says dramatically. “Rumors about a certain handsome genius. Rumors about said genius’s hotel room. Rumors about the distinct lack of anyone sleeping in the bed in said hotel room. Rumors about another hotel room, this one occupied by a certain dark chocolate love god, being graced with a late-night visitor--”

“Garcia--”

“The rumors make no mention of the intervening hours, so it’s anyone’s guess what might have happened in that second hotel room. But! A little birdy of the variety _Aemilia prentisii_ spotted said handsome genius doing the walk of shame back to his room in the morning wearing yesterday’s clothes and a truly impressive case of bed head, and said birdy innocently happened to ask me if I knew anything about it, so--”

“Damn it,” Morgan mutters under his breath. He then has to hold the phone away from his ear to avoid being deafened by a shout of “A-HA!” “Look, I gotta get back to the team. You can grill me off the clock, after we wrap up this case.”

“Oh, you best believe I’m going to grill you. And, Morgan?”

“Yes, Penelope.”

“I hope you two are taking the best care of each other. Garcia out!” _click_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that's where this particular story should wrap up. Thanks to everyone for reading!


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